Paper Dagger
by Slea
Summary: Archie feels betrayed. Can he find true forgiveness in his heart before his subconscious anger kills his carreer or himself? (child abuse, heavy torture, some nudity) Special thanks to the creator of the good Doctor, Sarah B. I am sorry it took so long to find her. but I am glad i did.
1. Paper Dagger

The Characters are not mine. I do this for personal pleasure not money!! My thanks to Mady who is willing to put up with my work long enough to BETA it ... she's great.  
  
A Paper Dagger  
by Cyndi  
  
I am writing this journal because The Good Doctor, Luis Sebastian, said to. Just as happened the night of our first meeting, I have pent up too much of my feelings and if I do not release them soon, I will again fall victim to the fits that have so long tormented me. As for me, I cannot say what God intends, but I have no idea what feelings he thinks I dwell. I thought I had a mild case of the influenza, nothing more.  
  
The outbreak of this ailment is strong; half the ship was down with it. It nearly killed Mr. Hornblower. It has been weeks, but I do remember it as if it were only moments ago. The day had seemed normal until the moment one of the younger midshipmen told me that Horatio was not answering the door. He was due to relieve me on watch in just a few minutes. It was unlike him not to be 'Johnny on the spot.' I remember an odd twisting in my gut, as if someone had taken hold of my stomach and wrenched it from its place. I replaced myself with this young midshipman. I excused myself and ran to the cabin. The door was stuck, unmoving against all my efforts. Finally, it gave in to my final attempt. I entered the portal only to find my roommate keeled over on the floor in front of it. His face was ashen, as white as the shirt on his back, maybe more so. His skin burned with fire. I had chosen to ignore the occasional cough that had kept me up on several occasions. I should have known better. He had fallen sick. The influenza that had up to this time not yet taken grasp of this ship was strangling the life from a man I had at one time considered a friend. I got him to the surgery, but even the doctor was not apt to wager on his survival.  
  
After that night, more and more of the men fell victim to this vile illness. My shifts doubled and my sleep... it too did not go undisturbed. I had succumbed to my first fit in months. With no one else in the room, it went unnoticed, and it would have remained unnoticed to even me but for the bruise on my cheekbone I can only assume came from flailing myself. I passed it off to the good doctor as being clumsy enough to have tripped over my own feet and colliding into the bulkhead. I assumed he accepted my explanation, for he allowed me to continue my watch undisturbed.  
  
Damn, I don't even want to think of those days again.  
  
Nor should I have to. After all, the ship was lucky the fever only took three of our ratings. Good men, and a sad loss, but the situation still could have been worse. Luckily for the ship and Captain, Mr. Hornblower did survive, and though he was stuck convalescing in the sick berth, I too was relieved for his health, for soon my shifts and my nights (I prayed) would return to normal. There had been several more incidences with my ailment, gratefully only after I was off duty and attempting sleep. I rarely awaken right after a fit but there were always telltale signs - the dried, drool- wet clothing and occasional bruise or cut I suffered due to the spasms. Clayton often told me my fits were amidst a bad dream. If I was dreaming, I do not recall the dreams, nor having so many since the Justinian. I know, as the doctor has told me often enough, I will live with this affliction for the rest of my days. Maybe it was the influenza that brought them on this time, for I, too, fell victim to the fever. I cannot say when it started, only that I seemed to have given into its clutch right after Mr. Hornblower was released from the sick berth.  
  
Mr. Hornblower came to the deck to tell me of his good fortune. I remember welcoming him back. I remember Mr. Whittier relieving me from duty only hours later and I remember going to our cabin and finding Mr. Hornblower lying comfortably on his bunk. After that, I don't remember anything until I awoke here in Sebastian's good care.  
  
He told me what Horatio said; I dropped as if hit by a cannonball. I was wet with fever and chilled to the bone. He told the doctor that before he could gain help I was felled by a fit and when the doctor told me he was certain it had not been the first one in the past weeks, I found myself unable to even look at him, yet alone lie. He says there is more to me that even I understand. He says there seems to be a trigger that fires off my curse, just as a pistol has a trigger to fire off its shot. He claims that there is very little the medical field knows of this problem but what he has seen in me only seems to happen under heavy stress. Like the expectation that comes from knowing that Jack Simpson was on board my ship. Still, if that were wholly true, then my affliction would have passed with the news of his demise or continued every time I went into battle. He says this stress is emotional.  
  
Stress of Duty only heightens my acuity. Emotional stress undermines my very soul. So says the good doctor.  
  
He has asked me several times when the fits began. I have told him nothing. He concluded from talking to Mr. Hornblower that it began sometime after he fell sick. Still I had nothing to say. He asked me if Horatio's illness could have had something to do with it. Horatio? I have had these fits forever it seems. Horatio is but a shipmate I have known for a few of my tormented years.  
  
Something is still haunting me, so he says. It is why I cannot seem to get rid of this illness. Mayhap, it is why I can't get rid of this fear in my heart. He says something has triggered my emotions. Something has uncovered a well-hidden pain and left me exposed to this, my truest of all enemies, my own mind. The fits are just a small part of it, he says. I if I don't relinquish this burden he believes me to carry, I am liable to encounter them as often as I did within the prison walls or even on board the Justinian. I am frightened by that thought.  
  
What do I do? Where do I start?  
  
It is cold and dark out tonight and yet I am miserably hot, and the light of the candle is burning though my brain, and I feel very much alone. What do you want from me? What can I write to make you go away? I do not understand the purpose of this exercise in futility. Pent up feelings be damned, if anything should give me fits it would be this damned journal.  
  
Note to self... Do not toss the journal, or any book, at the sick berth door. The chances of our overly attentive doctor coming though it is insurmountable and then you get stuck with the "I told you so look" and a thirty-minute speech on the dangers of stress.  
  
After noting my fever had returned with a vengeance, he took the damned book away from me until just now. I have been quite ill according to Horatio. I do not recall. The doctor said the fits have become more a part of my nights than rest. He begs me to tell him what bothers my soul. I can not tell him what I do not know and I do not know that I would tell him if I did. Trust never came easy and now it seems that it never comes at all, and so he returned this book. "Express your fears. Express your dreams," he said. "Give words to your anger, whatever they may be, but forgive your trespasses as you should forgive those who trespass against you. If not, I shall be forced to sign your pardon from His Majesty's services."  
  
He would have me discharged. Unfit. I would rather die than face that. Dear God. Please...  
  
Where do I start?  
  
...Forgive those who trespassed against you... there have been so many trespasses in my life, why is it so important now? Trespasses, betrayals, broken trusts...could it be? It has been so long that I thought we had found peace between us. Mayhap it was more of an understanding. That should be enough. It was an understanding that had to come to pass if we were to remain onboard ship together. Could it be I was wrong? Could it be that once again my past has come forward to slap me hard across the face? That is how it felt then and it is how I feel now. I feel betrayed, now, by my mind. Then...by he who I had trusted with my darkest secrets.  
  
It was the second day of our return to the INDY, since being returned to England by the Spanish, in recognition of our rescue of the survivors of the Almarie.  
  
The Captain had been made aware of my affliction many years previous, the night of the attack on the Papillion. It would be one of the first things he brought up on my return to the ship.  
  
I thought I would die standing there, and in fact, I prayed for it  
  
"It is something I should have been made aware of sooner," he insisted.  
  
I had no reply. I had nothing to say. I didn't think I could have said anything even if I had been able to open my mouth. I truly wanted to die right then and there.  
  
"Still," he added, "Mr. Hornblower seems to think that this fit was brought on when Mr. Simpson came on board. He seems to believe that if I let you tell your side of the story, I will come to understand your silence. I have heard tale of his actions on board the Justinian and I have seen his cruel and vile conduct. I have no doubt that if you tell me he is the cause, that you would tell me the truth."  
  
What I would have given to have a cannonball break through the walls and cut me in half. My tongue was numb, as was the rest of me. My knees wanted to buckle. I recognized this feeling; I was on the verge of a fit, right there in the Captain's cabin. The captain's words were no longer a part of my world. He continued to talk but I heard nothing but echoes in my head. Then something shattered the tunnel and made it though to my mind.  
  
"Show him, Archie," Horatio said. "Show him the scars."  
  
I didn't believe my ears. Surely I was hallucinating. Horatio would never break his word to me.  
  
"Show him the scars, Archie."  
  
I guess I was wrong, because as bold as brass, Horatio shattered that pledge made to me years ago like so much unwanted crystal. I could do nothing but look dumbfounded. He had promised never to tell.  
  
"Show him!!" he yelled. I looked back at the Captain, hoping he would say it was unnecessary. The words never came.  
  
I removed my jacket as the Captain looked on. I was beginning to feel lightheaded. Dear God, what would have been worse showing off my scars or having a fit right there in Captain's cabin? Horatio snapped me around angrily and stared hotly into my eyes. I felt a sudden urge of anger and hate towards the man whom I had come to see as more of a brother than a friend. Still, that moment's heat was enough to burn away the fit for the moment. I wondered if Horatio knew that would happen. Then I wondered if he cared.  
  
I finished removing my shirt. For a moment I thought Mr. Bowles was going to keel over. I thought this reaction odd, for he had seen many a flogged back. The Captain dropped heavily into his chair and then Mr. Hornblower saw fit to turn me around. My back was no sooner to the Captain than Mr. Bowles pushed his way out the door of the Captain's cabin.  
  
I remember the first time Horatio had seen my back. I did not own half the stripes I wear now and he, too, lost control of his stomach. He had yet to see a flogging and some of my wounds were fresh, so his reaction might have been expected, only he did not make it out of the door. A midshipman is not to be flogged under the Articles of the service, but then those who chose to do this did not see an officer, or a human, for that matter. The numbness started to ease its way back into my mind.  
  
The Captain walked up behind me and gently placed my shirt over my back.  
  
"The Prison?" he asked me, in an almost fatherly and hushed tone, as he turned me back around to face him.  
  
"Some of the newer..." I tried to tell him.  
  
Pellew sat on his desk. His eyes followed the map of still visible old and new scars that crossed a small part of my stomach and sides.  
  
"I want the truth, Mr. Kennedy," he said. "I want the whole truth."  
  
"How far back would you like me to go? I inquired."  
  
"As far as you can stand to relate," he replied. "I will hold all you say to me this day within strictest confidence."  
  
Suddenly my mind screamed out, "Forgive me, sir. But I have heard those words before. " At least I believed it was spoken only in my mind. My stare glazed over to Horatio, who would no longer look me in the face.  
  
"I can ask Mr. Hornblower to leave if you wish it. Though, I believe his failure to maintain any contract with you was, in his eyes, an attempt to keep you afloat. I, too, reiterate that I will not break this oath to you unless I deem it a danger to England and or this ship. He looked past me over to Horatio, as if to dismiss him. But I begged him to allow him to stay, after all, I thought a man being punished should be done rightly so within the view of his mates, to warn them of that which could befell them should they fall from grace.  
  
I can only assume he read the fear in my face as he added, "Please understand that even knowing what I know, Mr. Kennedy, I consider you one of my best men and I would dearly hate to lose you. "  
  
I am not so sure the words registered; I am not sure I even cared. I just wanted out. I wanted death. At this point I wanted Horatio dead, as well. So, I again related my tale.  
  
"When I was six," I told him, "I saw my father hit my mother. I had often heard my mother cry at night but I didn't know what was going on until that night. My ma took to calling me her little man. When I was very young but I did not feel as a man if being a man meant treating people the way my dad did. I was fairly sure I wanted nothing of manhood. It was not until I was nearly eleven years of age that my father hit my mother in front of me again. I rose up to defend her, as I had seen the heroes do in the theater on our visits to Drury Lane. I called him a coward, and when he slapped me I tried to hit him back but he slapped my hand way like a bothersome gnat. So, I kicked him in the shin with everything I had."  
  
For a moment I thought I saw a cross between shock and humor traverse the Captain's eyes. Still, I continued my story.  
  
"I awoke three days later. My father, in all of his drunken glory, had chosen to remove the belt from his waist and slam it, buckle and all, against my head, back and legs. It was after that that the fits started, sir. At least that is what I am told. I was confined to my room for many months, with no doctor and no relief to the pain. My only aid came from my older brother and sisters. They would spend several hours of their days reading me stories and helping me to walk. He, my father, would not even allow me to eat with the family. He did not want to see me until after the wounds had completely healed. He was not to be reminded what had been done.  
  
When finally all of the mandates of my punishments were met, I was made ready for dinner and led to the dinner table. Up 'til then I don't think I had ever been so terrified. I was not to say anything to him or ever bring up the incident again. He informed me that my punishment had been served and that I was free to go about the house. Then suddenly his ire returned and he announced that if any word reached outside the walls of his house he would punish them who told as he had done to me. I do not recall ever eating my dinner. Instead, I awoke in my bed to the sounds of my mother's tears. I had fallen before my father in a fit. I was his son no longer. I would not see his face again. Six months later, at eleven years of age, I was a midshipman on board the Justinian. Sir."  
  
"So these scars were your father's doing? "  
  
"Only small few."  
  
The look of anger that flushed his face faded as quickly as it had come. I thought him liable to explode at any minute and then suddenly, almost miraculously, calm  
  
"Then please continue, sir. I wish to know what it is that haunts you."  
  
"There is nothing that haunts me, sir, save the loosed tongue of one who would be my friend." The words spat out of my head quicker that I had dared believe. I could not have cut Horatio any plainer should I have brandished a sword.  
  
Still, the Captain would have no self-pity on board his ship, and told me as much. "Continue if you wish, or leave me to make my decision with what little I have to go by. If you should ever see yourself as gaining rank in this man's Navy, you might be a little bit more forthcoming of information. I would be grateful for any knowledge that would tip the sails to your favor. Mr. Hornblower, no doubt, understands this, though his methods are a bit brisk. I doubt you believe it at this time, his thinking is sound."  
  
Horatio told to save me from losing my commission. He believed there was no other way around my predicament and I knew in my heart he was not wrong, but my anger was far from cooled.  
  
"Yes, sir," I spoke, not knowing how or where to start. He asked me to tell him where Mr. Simpson figured into my ailment. "Mr. Simpson was the lead midshipman of the Justinian, sir," I stated in no uncertain terms, just as it had been taught to me. He may levee a toll on our sea chest, likewise our issue of spirits and best cuts of meat. He is...uh...was senior officer in the mess. He had privilege to stake claim on anything he wished."  
  
"Render unto Caesar," Mr. Hornblower mumbled.  
  
I felt my eyes close. "I had not seen my first night on board ship before Mr. Simpson staked his claim on me." I continued talking to him as if he and Horatio were not even present in the room. I tried my damnedest not to look the Captain in the eyes. A great part of me was so tired of hiding that my stare must have seemed challenging, for it was the Captain whose eyes found comfort in the floor.  
  
"I was gagged and tied down, belly first, over some table stowed in the ship's hold. It had two holes bore though the wood in which two sheep shanks wedged through them were used to cuff me to it."  
  
At this point I found swallowing a challenge, yet alone talking.  
  
"He removed my trousers and struck me twice with a boson's starter. He then began to ...to acquaint himself with my ...with me. I do not remember what happened save what Mr. Clayton informed me. It seems I had suffered a fit. Mr. Simpson returned. He then finished the beating he had started earlier, as he informed me I was not going to feign illness to get out of my duties to him. I was his to do with as he would and then he carved his initials in my backside. If I spoke to anyone about this he would tell the Captain I was unfit for duty. If he chose to he would do it anyway. I had no place to go. I had no home. The only thing I could hope for was death. And I prayed for it daily. He had different toys for different occasions. I was first flogged after the ratings had been flogged for attempting to run. I was hit five times with the cat before I succumbed to the pain. He also found value in the sail makers' tools and various items from the kitchen."  
  
"Certainly someone noticed the blood on your shirts?" the Captain asked.  
  
"Have you ever seen Mr. Kennedy out of uniform, sir?" Mr. Hornblower announced. "Blood does not too visibly show on dark blue wool."  
  
"Certainly someone knew of this travesty. Were you not seen by the doctor? "  
  
"Aye, sir. On the occasions when dousing my wounds in rum could not control the infections or he beat me senseless, he would send me to the sick berth under the guise of my clumsiness or punishment resulting in a visit from the boson's mate. He had a convincing story for everything. My only respite came when he or I were sent away on separate missions or if we were given leave."  
  
"You mean to tell me not one would stand against this beast?"  
  
I looked him square on. He truly could not comprehend the loneliness of my situation. "On a rare occasion, a midshipman would attempt to intervene, but rarely did he live long enough to regret his kindness."  
  
"Mr. Simpson would not dare commit murder on board a ship of His Majesty's Navy. Mr. Keene may have been a lot of things but he was not stupid."  
  
"Of course not, sir," I growled. "If you were to check the journals, you would find they were accidents one and all. The first was Mister Conyers, sir. He fell victim to a storm, lost at sea during a watch that should have been Mr. Simpson's. The second was Mr. Howard; he was lost when he fell from the mizzenmast to the deck. Mr. Simpson claimed he tried to save him but was unable. There were a few others whose accidents left them either lame or dead, each coming after the poor bloke attempted to help me. The last of these coincidences would have been Mr. Clayton, in lieu of Mr. Hornblower's request for a duel. The issue of cards had little or no bearing on the challenge, although it might have to Mr. Hornblower. Mr. Clayton was one of the few who knew the extent of my dishonor. He only hoped to prevent Horatio from falling victim, too."  
  
"Mr. Kennedy!" he roared. "You mean to tell me that this continued for ... for..."  
  
"Seven years," I finished. Quite calmly I might add. He was not pleased with my finishing off his sentence but for the first time in all my years, I felt stronger than I ever had.  
  
"Sir. The reason you never knew about the fits," Horatio intervened, "was because until Simpson boarded the ship, there had not been any fits to report. They only seem to occur under times of great mental anguish, invoked on a rare occasion by a nightmare, but never, save that one incident, did it ever affect Mr. Kennedy's duties on board the Indefatigable. Never."  
  
"Dear God. It is any wonder that you have any faith left, my lad. That which you have endured would have broken many a good man."  
  
"My faith in my fellow man or my faith in God?" I asked, readily angered by my own question.  
  
"Either, sir," he challenged.  
  
"My faith in my fellow man was not wholly broken...until recently," I added. "My faith in God. Well, sir..."  
  
"Do you blame God, sir?"  
  
"Well sir, no, sir. I only blame myself. Maybe if I had been a better person, a better sailor or even a better son, maybe it would have been different. For this I can only beg thy Holy Father's forgiveness"  
  
"Nonsense man. For what you have been through, I would believe God, above all, would understand. You are not to blame."  
  
It was then my knees buckled beneath me. I felt as if I were going to be sick. Mr. Hornblower tried to catch me but I jerked away from him. This all was his fault. I would have been fine, have survived, or more importantly died, in prison had he not interfered. I hated him, but I hated myself more.  
  
The Captain sent Horatio for the surgeon, and he himself eased me to a chair.  
  
"I am sorry, sir," I remember muttering as he handed me a snifter of brandy to try and calm my nerves.  
  
"I will not hear it. It is I who should be apologizing, sir. I should not have forced such memories upon you so soon after your release from capture."  
  
I am too tired to write any more. This damned book has become a paper dagger that is continuously thrust in my stomach. Or maybe it is this damn illness. I will try to rest. Maybe tomorrow I will continue to bandy with my nightmare. I can only hope that this struggle is worth the effort. 


	2. torment continued

Chapter 2  
  
It has been two days since I was allowed to spend time with this book. Dr. Sebastian has requested several times to read it, or at least discuss its contents with me. I told him straight out there was little I could do to stop him, but if he were truly requesting my permission I would beg him no.  
  
He tells me that my dreams have become more constant, and with them, my fits. It seems I have cried out for forgiveness for what he would only surmise as an unbelievable amount of time. He begged me again for my permission to bear this cross with me. "If you cannot speak to the captain or Mr. Hornblower, then at least let me help. What you have written could be a clue of your problems. I believe that it may hold the key to your health, nay, your life.  
  
What do I do now? I have no care for my life as it is. Still, something in me screams to live; to strive. Something in me needs to remain tethered to this mortal life. My work, I would guess, is yet to be done and God has made it plain that I will have to work for my glories that will follow in the after life. Or maybe it is that he is trying to tell me that I will not have to forge through this one alone.  
  
Eventually, I will likely give in to one of his request to help me, he is persistent enough, butI am just not ready. When Horatio came in to add his request to my list, at first I laughed. What did he need, more dirty laundry to announce to the world?  
  
Damn, I have forgotten my place. My mind wanders too often now. The fever has drugged me more so than a full bottle of Laudanum. If the doctor is right, then my relapse is due to something that happened that day, that infamous day in the captain's cabin. Where was I? Oh yes.  
  
The Captain had just handed me a snifter of brandy when the doctor had shown himself. Mr. Hepplewhite and I had no love lost between us that were for sure certain. He enjoyed his blindness when it came to my injuries in the past. I suppose I should not blame him, for Mr. Simpson had an easy way with lies and then again, he would be content with the explanation if you announced that I had been keelhauled if it was given with either a straight face or a bottle of rum. I never told anyone but I was as afraid of that poor excuse of a doctor as I was of Mr. Simpson. His tongue was as sharp as any blade, and I was truly unfit to believe he was not right in is assessment of me. In his opinion I was a disgrace to the uniform. His was an opinion I would have to accept, since he was at the time the ship's leading medical expert. His opinion was also one of few things he bore no pain to give me. He was, after all, a man of knowledge. I would be a greater fool not to have given his education its proper respect. That too, was something he was more than willing to inform me.  
  
I tried like hell to get the Captain to believe that I was fine, to which the good doctor announced, "It is well that I recognized my tendency to waist his time."  
  
The captain left his office with Mr. Hornblower. I again was left to the verbal nurturing of the doctor. I believe it was something to the fact that I again was wasting his and the good Captain's time. Then something to the fact of: How he understood why it was Mr. Simpson had to discipline me, as often as he did, and of course my favorite: how I should be grateful for the lessons learned by his hand. But these were all words I had heard before. It was the words that followed that bore in to my soul.  
  
It seems, he feels, that since the day I first boarded the Justinian, I had become the doctor's own personal plague, his bane if you will. One, he said in all honesty, was not missed during my absence.  
  
Further dressings of my psychological wounds were gratefully interrupted by the entry of the Captain and Mr. Hornblower. I respectfully and gratefully stood from my chair at their entry, to which the doctor informed him he saw no reason for his own presence and excused himself. The doctor again left with doing no more than drinking a snifter of the Captain's good port and pouring salt on the open wounds of my heart and mind.  
  
The captain took a seat behind his desk and had both Horatio and myself take seats across from him. He asked if I felt able to continue my report. I dare say I was not going to say no. I already knew the opinion of the doctor. If he had his say I would have never re-boarded the Indefatigable. If it had not been for that damned Hornblower we both may have been the happier for it. But I am here now and all the bile in the back of my throat is not going to change that. I have nowhere else to go. If I am forced to leave the Navy, I will not live the night. My soul will be damned, another thing I have to thank Mr. Hornblower for.  
  
It was a few moments before I realized he was talking to me again.  
  
"I suppose I should be grateful for what Mr. Simpson did to me," I muttered, still thinking on what the doctor had said.  
  
"Dear God, sir. I cannot believe what I just heard. Please, tell me you didn't just say that."  
  
I was both embarrassed and confused when he repeated to me my words and begged that I would tell him why anyone should feel grateful for such abuse.  
  
"I know, sir, that this may sound strange, but after my capture, and my first attempt to escape, I was tied to a stake in the middle of the compound and beaten." I looked over to Horatio who sat with his head in his hands. The Captain popped up from his chair as if stung by a bee.  
  
I don't remember how many lashes. It was not as if my efforts did not go unpunished on my journey back to my imprisonment. I was barely able to stand when we finally arrived  
  
"Dear God," I heard the Captain murmur.  
  
"Funny thing sir, but as I think back, it seems I was unimpressed by their punishment."  
  
I wish I could have stopped time and painted the looks that crossed Horatio and the Captain's faces; shock, confusion, and more than a bit of worry for my sanity crossed those eyes.  
  
"Sir," I continued, "When I was beaten in the French prisons it was nothing I could not bear. Unfortunately for me, they too realized beating me did nothing. So they introduced me to several other ways a man could be punished. Each time the punishment was a little more severe than the last" I know the look that crossed the Captain's face next; he wanted more information.  
  
"Despite my ailment, I am nearly fourteen years in the Navy, sir; I know my duty as a British officer. The rules do not give leave as to how much you are allowed to bear before you are allowed to quit. So I continued my endeavors; the first chance I had, I ran. Each time the punishment was harsher than the last but each time I endured it and tried again. They continued to move me further and further away from my destination in hopes to dissuade any more attempts to get home. With each move there was less and less human contact, until I found myself alone in a Spanish prison. Yet, not having a clue how I was to get back to the Indy, I made yet another attempt to break free. It was the last time that left me without the use of my mind or my legs. In the end, it was the Spanish who broke me. Not by beating or flogging me or even stringing me up shirtless in the sun for three days. No, I was broken, after being forced to sit in the dark with none but the rats and myself. I was essentially buried alive with nothing more than small doses of water, a few crumbs of bread and my tortured mind for a month.  
  
The Captain pulled himself around the desk, once again sitting on the corner, and laying his hand gently on my shoulder, said, "What I don't understand, Mr. Kennedy, is why it was you were not bothered by fits prior to Mr. Hornblower's capture and subsequent imprisonment? "  
  
"At the time I had given up on life. I did not want to be rescued nor saved. Especially after finally knowing how it was I came to be alone in the longboat. What I said was not wholly true nor was it wholly false. I did have fits during my internment, but I was not bothered by them. I prayed for them, hoping I would swallow my tongue or bash my own head in. I knew eventually the odds had to go in my favor. I prayed that I would die and not have to face the world again. Do you know what it is like to be looked down on for eternity as poor Mr. Kennedy? To know that as soon as Mr. Hornblower was able to escape with his crew that the world would know how I was found, beaten and lost, laying in filth of my own making. Dear God, I was even the topic of the guards' conversations half the night, standing out side my window laughing. I guess they did not know I understood Spanish. It was dreadful.  
  
"But you said," Horatio objected  
  
"I said, I was not bothered by them. I don't know how to explain it other than I slept through most of them. Yes, there are ways to know they have happened and I did not care. Then along comes not only another English sailor but my shipmate. My embarrassment was complete. How plain could I have made it? You would have thought a mind like yours would have gotten the hint when you began to bathe me. I would have preferred death than to have to listen to the muffled comments of my weakness, my illness. Even Mr. Hunter understood that I would be better off dead. He even attempted to help me die.  
  
I watched the whole thing play out in Horatio's eyes. Always the analytical mind is he. "By keeping quiet about you not eating?"  
  
"Yes," I laughed. "He actually volunteered to eat my portions so that I would not have to smell the food dumped on the ground and of course you would never know I was not eating"  
  
"Damn his soul, "Captain Pellew murmured adding, "If he were not already dead I would have him up on attempted murder charges."  
  
"No sir, I beg you, forgive him. I don't doubt his motives were selfish ... but then so were mine." The thought of the smell of beef gravy and bread makes my stomach churn even now. Oh God! 


	3. Doctor's Journal

Chapter 3 Personal Medical Journal of Doctor Luis Sebastian.  
  
As I have not had time to dedicate to my personal journal, as my duty to the ship calls for that journal to be kept up to date, I will make a brief summation of all that has happened this past couple of weeks. It seems that the ship had come in contact with the influenza. Possibly this happened during the time that we were replenishing our stock and stores. At first there was no real sign of the problems this near epidemic would create.  
  
Luckily for me, the good Captain Pellew keeps a clean ship, or the Lord knows what might have happened with this plague.  
  
My first sign of problems came when one of the young loblolly boys fell ill. I fear children are more susceptible due to their petite sizes and childlike ways. They don't tend to wash as often as they should. Sometimes I think if the Captain did not weigh anchor once in a while and allow the men and boys who could swim to jump overboard they would never take to water. Sometimes, the Lieutenants would line the lot of them up and turn the bilge pumps on and blast the whole crew. The kids especially were handed cakes of lye to scrub their filthy hides, and then mops to clean the decks afterwards. More time than not, though, our time did not leave us to such leisure. We are, after all, in a war.  
  
I had no longer put him to bed when two more of the ship's boys and a rating were brought to sick berth. In a day's time I had four very sick men in my berth. Odds were not in my favor. God, it would seem, was about to set into action one of his many tests of my faith and my will.  
  
By the next morning, I had doubled the numbers of men who found themselves complaining of coughs and aches; some already felled to the fever that made this illness so complicated. By the end of that week one of the older ratings had died and my numbers in sick berth had again doubled. Unfortunately, I was unable to keep track of those who had not fallen ill. I had taken the time to visit with the Captain, who claimed to be of good health. I was not willing to take a chance; as well I knew our dear Captain possessed the Devil's own stubbornness when it came to admitting illness. So I gave him a quick check up, wearing a clean scarf across my nose and mouth in hope that should the illness have taken hold of me, I would not pass it to the Captain. Again I found him in good health, but unfortunately I had no time to check on my other strong-willed officers. If I had, I might have been able to catch Lieutenant Hornblower's illness before it had gotten so dire.  
  
When the young acting lieutenant carried Horatio's body though the door, I first thought was he was dead in his arms. Praise God, I was wrong. It took Mr. Matthews to lead Archie Kennedy from my domain whilst I cared for Mr. Hornblower.  
  
Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Hornblower had been a bit at odds as of late, but you could still see the strong look of concern in his eyes. I wished I could have promised him that Mr. Hornblower would be fine; it was the only thing he wanted to know as Mr. Matthews tried to lead him away under my orders. I cared greatly for both these young men, whom, despite one's current anger towards the other, were more like brothers than any two young men I have ever met. All I could tell him as he left the room was to have faith that whatever happens it is but a small part of God's bigger plan for all of us. Now as I look back on my words, I think I understand why it did not have the desired effect that I had hoped for. I think it would have been better to have said; 'I can not say at this time, I am sorry,' and left it alone. For now I know why the young man looked as if he had been betrayed and abandoned by me, Horatio and God.  
  
Gratefully, Mr. Hornblower, being the greatly blessed young man that he is, did survive. He was at the time, I believed, the last to fall victim of the epidemic, and with little regards of the nearness he had come to his own mortality, it was all I could do when he did regain his senses to keep him abed. By the time Mr. Hornblower showed signs of improvement, I had lost two more of the older ratings. I was able to hold Mr. Hornblower down for nearly a week, before it became evident that he would wander out if I did not release him soon. I sent him back to his own cabin, currently shared with Mr. Kennedy, under the guise that he was still under orders to rest for the next day and then he could take up light duties on the morrow. Little did I suspect I would see him again before the afternoon sun was high in the sky.  
  
Mr. Kennedy, it seemed had been taking on his own duties as well as Horatio's and some of the ratings' duties; too much for a young man. On the day I relinquished Mr. Hornblower to his own accord, it seems young Archie's body chose to give in to the illness that he, too, had been concealing. To put it in Horatio's words, it was as if a cannonball had hit him. Mr. Kennedy's body is frailer than one would notice, to look on him His strength stems from God and the stubborn willpower that would shame a mule. I can only suppose that he succumbed to the illness after being in such close contact to Mr. Hornblower during the fevering. Mr. Kennedy, also on rare occasions, suffers from seizures of great magnitude, which I was informed happened almost immediately after his collapse. This ailment causes him to lose control of his body and mind and often is signified by his body, as a whole, thrashing about viscously. These can last as long as a few seconds to several minutes. I am told that if someone is around him when it happens they can usually coax his mind back and stop the event. In most cases he falls immediately to sleep, as if his body has used all of its energy.  
  
Until now, I had not actually seen the depths of these seizures. He had seemed almost cured of them since I first came aboard. I wish I knew what caused them, or better yet, what it was that held them at bay, for I would give anything to stay this boy's pain. Mr. Kennedy's illness seems to have taken firm hold of him. His cough is mild, but the fever burns incessantly. He has suffered several fits since being brought here and I fear it may be that whatever is causing his fits is allowing the influenza to take hold.  
  
Mr. Hornblower once told me that the fits were usually suffered in times of great mental anguish; times such as when he was a young midshipman on board the Justinian. Everyday since I met the young lad, found myself grateful to God above for never having known the man who so horribly abused him. Mr. Hornblower informed me that it has only happened a few times recently, during nightmares when Mr. Kennedy slept, and once the young man was awakened and assured of where he was, he would fall fast asleep showing no sign of the difficulties. On the other hand, I have been witness to the young officer under the most diverse situations, and not only has he held his own, but he has brought he and his crew out completely unscathed. So I do not suspect that stress from his work would be the cause of this duress. I have asked him directly to try and tell me what is weighing so heavily on his mind that the ailment is beginning to grab hold, but he denies there is a problem. So I have told him my predicament: if the seizures do not stop soon, I will have to declare him unfit for duty. They are happening far too often to be healthy.  
  
I do not think I could have stunned him more if I had slapped him across the face. Still, I told him my suspicions and asked him to bear with me. If he could not tell me outright, perhaps he could write his feelings down in a journal; whatever it took to free him from this anguish. At first, all did not bode well, he only got frustrated and threw the book heavily across the room, but finally he is beginning to write. Still, the fever burned, and the fits and bad dreams were happening more often. He was not confiding the contents of his journal to me, and I swore on my oath that I would not invade his privacy; I would not read the contents of the book. I had only one recourse left: prayer.  
  
If something is not done soon, this child will pass beyond my reach. How odd that he would suffer and survive such trials, only to fall prey to an innocent virus. I find it hard to believe that his life was not spared for a more important duty. He is now being felled by a weak stomach; my elixirs are no longer any help, as along with anything else he consumes, he immediately retches them back up. Unconscious sleep has become a welcome respite for the lad. I beg You, Lord, harbor him in the safety of Your bosom. If it be Your will that he return home, then I beg You to ease the suffering. Thy will be done.  
  
Mr. Hornblower came to visit with Mr. Kennedy today. I fear the fever has taken Mr. Kennedy past my ability to reach him, so I begged the Captain for the temporary reassignment of Mr. Hornblower to my care. He had not been by to see Mr. Kennedy, as he has now taken on watch on watch to cover the young acting lieutenant's duties. Enough time has not passed since Horatio was lying that close to death that he should be taking on such responsibilities. I gave my word that he could do his normal shift on deck, but afterwards he was to report to me.  
  
I had two reasons for this request: the first I already explained; the second, I needed someone to get through to Mr. Kennedy. I needed someone who could break down the shield he has put up to keep from being hurt. If any one could do that, I knew it would be Mr. Hornblower. What I didn't realize was who all would be hurt when the shield finally shattered.  
  
Mr. Hornblower sat next to Archie, wiping the sweat from the young man's brow as he quietly listened to Mr. Kennedy's mindless murmurs. Every once in a while he would speak in French or even Spanish, but for the longest time they did not seem to make any sense. He talked about Napoleon and Josephine. He talked about Shakespeare and he talked about the Don who held him captive for so long, but he talked as if he was directing children by those names.  
  
It was not soon after my last entry that the ship became engaged in battle. My patient just as suddenly grew anguished by the fever. In his delirium, he began crying out for forgiveness and for Mr. Hornblower not to die. His cries were barely audible over the cannon fire. He cried out for God to forgive him, begged for his mercy on his friend. He had built himself up into such a tizzy that I did not think I could contain him to the bed much longer. I was busy attempting to tie Mr. Kennedy down, for he was in no condition to leave the bed and yet the moment the cannon fire roared he took to trying to slip his mooring like a man on a mission, when a ship's boy came running down stairs screaming that my assistance was needed topside. No sooner was I able to tie the young acting lieutenant down, when Styles came down and screamed at me.  
  
"Sir, come quick! It's the Captain and Mr. Hornblower, sir!"  
  
By blessed intervention alone I feel grateful that I am not currently attending two more funerals than I have already watched performed this day. We lost five ratings, two of the young powder monkeys and, unfortunately, one officer.  
  
The fight, is seemed, was more brutal than our young men had seen in sometime. Mr. Hornblower was the officer on watch when the fight began. He had called to quarters long before the first initial shot was fired. Mr. Shaffer, Mr. Bowels and the Captain quickly joined him on the decks as the first shot was fired. Although the French ship was much larger than our own, you will not find a group of men with more stout of heart than what crews the Indefatigable. We were making great headway, so I was told, and the French ship was in process of lowering their flag when it fired off one more shot. The ball exploded into the mizzenmast, throwing splintering shards everywhere. Mr. Hornblower threw himself in front of the Captain when the ball struck the mast, his effort knocked himself and the Captain to the deck, but unfortunately for Lieutenant Shaffer, the top mizzen's topmast and yardarms fell hard on to the spot where he had still stood. Under Mr. Bowels' command, the men took charge of the frigate.  
  
The Captain was pinned beneath Mr. Hornblower, who was unconscious, and both were pinned by wreckage sprawled across the deck. It only took the men a matter of minutes to remove enough of the debris to free the Captain and his young Lieutenant. Captain Pellew was uninjured, thanks to the quick thinking and movement of the often-clumsy Mr. Hornblower. The Lieutenant was not so lucky; the splinters that most assuredly would have struck our captain down were lodged in this young man. For the apparent blood loss I found when I got to the upper deck, it is no wonder everyone thought him to be dead, but once again our heavenly Father found mercy on this young man. Despite the multitude of splinters and the severity of the total injury, nothing he suffered was mortal as long as we were certain to remove all the wood and keep the wounds clean for a few days.  
  
As I returned to the sick berth with the wounded, I found Mr. Kennedy solemnly quiet. His eyes appeared open and his stare blank. I feared he died in my absence, but when I took a closer look, I found tears still streamed from his eyes. Suddenly, he began to mumble, his shallow breaths being interrupted by an occasional word or two. He spoke of death, but I could not stay and wait for the words that slowly spilled out of his grief. I begged Mr. Matthews to sit with the young lieutenant and attempt to calm him and write the words down. I turned my concerns to Mr. Hornblower and his injuries. A few times I heard Mr. Matthews cry out to the lad that he was having a bad dream, to wake up and see that Mr. Hornblower lives. When he finally passed out again, Matthew feared he had stopped breathing, but instead he had finally fallen asleep; a deep, frightfully deep sleep. It was then that I realized that while the fever had broken, his body was already worn to its limits. Yes, he was a sleep, but he may never awaken.  
  
Surgery was long, but it went well. The procedure of removing the splinters from Mr. Hornblower's back was painful and slow. He refused Laudanum, so I settled for feeding him the medicinal brandy I kept in the cabinet. I filled a mug and told him to drink as he felt the need. At first he sipped the drink but after I pulled free the first piece of wood from his back, he gulped down the rest. It was not that he no longer felt the pain. No, the liquid just left him not caring about it. After his second mug of this strong drink, he passed out. After the procedure was done, I had him moved to one of the berths in the same room as Archie.  
  
I talked to Mr. Hornblower after he regained consciousness His first concerns were for the Captain, then for the ship and then he asked me about Archie. The ship, like himself, was in need of a little repair work and it would be good as new. The Captain was totally unharmed but for the bump on the head when a certain young officer tackled him, tossing him harshly to the deck  
  
When I got a chance, I read the words that had been left on a piece of parchment by the boson. They read: 'My fault. God forgive me, I didn't mean it. I was scared ...angry. I wished him dead. I didn't mean it. Forgive me. Horatio, forgive me...my....friend ...I killed ...you.... O death....where ...is... thy sting...O...grave...where is thy...victory?'  
  
The man had lost his will to live and it seems to come from the belief that he had killed Horatio Hornblower. I tried to explain to Mr. Hornblower what little I could, without betraying the confidence that fell within doctor and patient privileges. But it only served to work Mr. Hornblower up.  
  
He struggled to get up, and did not give up until I threatened to drug him to a stupor, then he stopped his fussing. I forced him to down a small glass of brandy before I left the room with my two patients to go check on the Captain under the promise from the lieutenant that he would remain abed. I left a loblolly boy to see to their needs and come for me if the need should warrant. I had not thought to remove Archie's journal from the stand beside the beds. I would not have expected Horatio would have been the sort of man to invade the privacy of another, but when the young boy, Barrows, came banging on the Captain's cabin yelling that Mr. Hornblower had lost his mind, I returned to find him out of his bed and yelling at the sleeping form on the opposite one.  
  
The Captain and I attempted to pull him back to his pallet when he hit me in the arm with the book that had been on the bedside table. He was drunk and angry. His words came sloshing out as if he had been on a three-day leave. It was as if he didn't even recognize the Captain. He just pushed his way through us and back to Mr. Kennedy's bedside. I will never forget what happened next.  
  
"You and your damned pride" he yelled at me. "You and my father are no different. The answer was right in front of you, but because you were afraid to break that stupid code, you did not bother to look. Well I don't have to abide by that trust. I broke it anyway the day I told you about his back."  
  
He seemed to be swaying. He ignored the Captain's constant orders to return to his bed and it was all I could do to keep Captain Pellew from ordering the marines in and clapping him in irons. He had already reopened some of the wounds on his back, a fight would only make things worse. I was fairly sure that the tantrum was caused by the brandy. Suddenly, Mr. Hornblower fell to the floor, but he still talked, tears falling from his eyes as he spoke. He slowly crawled on his knees up to Archie's bed and began to talk to the young man at his side.  
  
"I know you hate me for what I did," he announced, "but I would do it again to protect you...to protect me. You are my friend and I could not bear to lose you again. Not even to the Admiralty and her rules. Hate me all you want, I can live with that as long as you are here, but don't hate yourself for something you cannot change. None of this is your fault, Archie. Wake up; I need you ...I..."  
  
He never got to finish his train of thought because the pain and the brandy had finally won out. Mid-sentence he fell limply across Mr. Kennedy's chest. Pellew finally called in the Marines, who helped me gently lay the injured man back onto his own bed, then left. "I am sorry, Captain," I whispered. "The last glass of brandy must have been too much. I am certain he was unaware of who he was even talking to half the time."  
  
"I will deal with the insubordination when the Lieutenants are better." He watched as I cut yet another shirt from the young man's back. "At the rate he is going, he will be pulling his duties in nappies and his hat," the Captain laughed incredulously.  
  
I smiled at the Captain's attempt at humor, but the truth was, this shirt was borrowed from my personal wardrobe because the lieutenant only had one dress shirt left of his own.  
  
As if the Captain had read my thoughts, he turned to head out the door. "I will see what I can find amongst my dunnage. I believe Mr. Matthews can mend this one. And maybe take in one of my older shirts, in hopes that it he may not need to soil any more of his own clothing. After all, had it not been for his infernal act of bravery, it would have been me laying in that bed... or worse." 


	4. Healing

Archie's Journal, Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sebastian's Journal, continued...

A new day had risen and fallen as both my patients slept on. Mr. Kennedy has tried on several occasions to pull himself from the darkness that enfolds him, but Mr. Hornblower had only stirred long enough to throw-up what was left in his stomach, and then fell hard back into the blackness of his infirmity, a fever. Mr. Hornblower's fever was expected, after all, he had bore splinters of tar-laden masts throughout his torso. I had no doubt that despite my efforts, infection would be a vicious problem in his recovery. Still, I pray for his quick recovery from it, as I am tired and running low on medicine. I have been going over the surgery in my mind and am sure that I have gotten every bit of cloth and wood I could find, still the odds were in their favor that I would miss one. I have been giving him small amounts of Laudanum through out the day, and with the help of both Mr. Styles and Mr. Matthews, we have seen to it that both men were fed properly with a clear broth and warm tea.

It takes a unique kind of man to be willing to spoon feed an unconscious person. You must be patient and careful, making sure that the head is propped up at the right angle to hold the liquid in the mouth and then massage the throat gently to coax it down his gullet and not down his windpipe. One might expect the like of Mr. Matthews to be that kind of person, but at first glance, Mr. Styles is a harsh and weathered sailor who would rather fight you than shake your hand. I suppose that only shows the truth of our heavenly Father's words that say you should not judge lest ye be judged. The Captain has allowed Styles and Matthews to work shift during the night and see to the needs of Mr. Hornblower and Mr. Kennedy so I will gratefully take to my bed.

A new day brought with it the smell of bitter coffee and stale burnt bread. On board a ship this far out to sea, those are blessings but even better news was that Mr. Kennedy has awoken. Mr. Styles says that he does not speak or seem to even hear what we are saying but his eyes are open. So I left my breakfast to see to my patient. He had fallen back to sleep but his breath was clearer and his heartbeat strong. There were little signs of the influenza; a raspy wheeze and occasional cough.

Oddly enough, I found tears puddled in the wee corners of his eyes as he slept. I pushed back his hair and awoke him with my words of consolation. I begged his forgiveness in disturbing his slumber. He gasped for a breath to allow him to speak without sobbing and said that it was he who should be sorry, it was all his fault, and again he turned his back to me and faced the wall.

This time he did not hold in his pain, he just continued to talk as if nothing mattered. He told me he had been angry with Mr. Hornblower for revealing his secrets to the Captain. That it was this that pained his heart, for he knew that Horatio had only done that to save him from being set ashore unfit. These were the words I had longed to hear from the lad, the words that I prayed would free him from the other ailment that vexed him so. But that was when I realized that his tears did not cease with the announcement but grew bigger and more painfully apparent.

"Archie? My lad," I begged him, "if that is what tormented your soul then why do you still bear this weight?"

He turned his head from the bulkhead to me. Hurt spilled from his eyes long past the drying tears. "Because," he told me, "now that he is gone I will never be able to beg his forgiveness." He returned his stare back to the wall and rubbed his eyes into the pillow.

I couldn't believe my ears, though I know not why I should be shocked by this revelation, after all, he had made this same statement in a drunken tirade just days before. He thought Horatio was dead, and he was to blame. I don't know what sights his nightmare showed him but now I understand his pain. I begged him to turn and look at me. At first I believed, because of his lack of response, that he might have cried himself to sleep, but moments later he did as I requested and I simply stepped out of view. For behind me, though still unconscious and fevered, was his best friend, and comrade, very much alive. Finally, for the first time in what seemed like ages, the precious light that burned so brightly in his eyes had returned.

"You see," I announced, "he is very much alive. So stop your fretting." I told him of Horatio's circumstances and how he was injured protecting the Captain. "Unfortunately," I confessed, "I did have to finally sedate him. He will not be pleased with me when he awakes from the Laudanum I gave him. Not to mention all the medicinal brandy he was given before I removed the splinters."

Mr. Kennedy blinked and blinked again as if the specter that lay before him would vanish before him. "He is not a dream or a ghost, Mr. Kennedy," I had to insist. "He is real and very much alive." Archie smiled, his face shining, but within a minute it faded and the tears again began to fall. In his weakened state I can understand how one's emotions can be uncontrollable, but this was bordering insane.

"Son," I begged, and I truly have begun to see him as such, "please tell me what bothers you, now?"

"I have acted the fool," he whispered to nobody in particular. "I do not see how he can forgive my behavior." Then this tear filled eyes turned on me as if to ask: Doctor, Please, do you think he will understand?

I thought back on the night prior when Mr. Hornblower attempted to pummel me to death with the small journal in which Archie had written. I remembered how Horatio, of all people, ignored the orders of his Captain, a man whom in his eyes could walk on these waters without the ship. And I remembered how, when there was no longer any strength left in him, he still managed to crawl to the side of his friend and begged him to live. I smiled at Mr. Kennedy, who I dare say was startled by my reaction. "Dear Archie," I laughed, "I can say on my Faith that I have no doubt that Mr. Hornblower would fight the Devil himself to protect you. I am most assured in my belief that you need not worry about his forgiveness."

I thought on my own words, then continued. "Still, that should be counted as a future conversation between you and your friend. For now, you both are in need of rest, and as doctor, I do so order it. Rest, Mr. Kennedy," I ordered. "Rest before I have to sedate you as well."

He turned over and curled beneath his blankets. He looked across the room at his sleeping shipmate and friend then he reached up for the book that lay on the table beside his bed. I handed it over to him and he smiled. "You may read it, Doctor, if you so wish but I would like to have it back so that I might add to it."

I smiled at his request and told him, "I don't believe that I have any further need to know what is on those pages but please keep it and write in it as oft as you may. Fill it with many happy entries that one day you may share with your children's children." The smile that sparkled from his eyes lit up the room and shamed the morning sun. With that I knew there was no reason to let my morning meal grow colder, so I left the room with both my charges resting in peaceful slumber. Somehow I knew they would again pull through this trial and the bond between them would be stronger than ever. I think I will drop by and see if I might borrow the Captain's chess set so that they might have something to occupy their minds while remaining laid up.

Horatio's entry to Archie's Journal.

My dear friend,

You sleep now. The Doctor's prayers have been answered by the return of color to your face, but it will be a while before your strength returns to its fullness. Still, I am grateful for every new day. In my cowardice I chose to confess my treason of your faith in me by this entry.

I write this to let you know that again I have betrayed your trust. I invaded your privacy by entering these hallowed and most private thoughts. Your most recent brush with fate frightened even the good Doctor, whom had all but given you up for dead. He made mention that he felt the clues to your continued illness lay within the binding of this record; a record his honor would not let him trespass upon. Fear for your life and drunken madness caused by my most recent surgery has led me to this book of which you dubbed your paper dagger. Aye, truly it is a blade to which no sword knows the steel. I hold this as no excuse for my actions, I have again betrayed you this time by entering your personal memoirs.

The words you wrote stung my heart like nothing I have yet to experience. You are my friend and as such I could not allow your life to be stolen away by words hidden by nothing more than a leather binding. I opened the journal and took into my own soul the pain of your words. Noting it was I whose betrayal pierced your faith so, that you would give up on life itself, only adds to the sorrow I feel.

The Doctor informed me that at one point your illness took you so close to the brink that words murmured by you during your delirium stuck out to him as a vision sent by God. Somehow you knew of our trouble topside, though you were trapped, literally tied up below. The good Doctor informed me that you were so close to crossing from this life that you saw the misfortune of those of us on the mizzen deck and bid him to save me. Because of this he asked someone to write any words you spoke down. That person, like me, used this book, scripting across the pages the babbling of a dying man. The Doctor hoped you would give some last clue as to how to treat you.

Somehow you thought me dead, and but no small act of God in my fate did your vision nearly come true, but truly I have no understanding to how it was that you felt responsible for my action or my fate. Nay, my friend, you have done nothing that is in need of forgiveness. I, on the other hand, have trespassed greatly on your trust and it is I who must deal with the consequences of my actions. I will not ask your forgiveness, for twice I have betrayed you, and you must know that if it meant your life I would do it again, so I beg you understand my motive. Never again would I turn my back on answers that stare me right in my face. I would gladly give up my life for my King, my Country, and for my friend. You are that friend.

Please know that I am more than willing to fight for what I believe in and I believe that you will make a great Admiral one day.

Your Loyal Servant,

Horatio Hornblower

The Journal of Archie Kennedy

I am astounded by the entries I have found in this book, both Mr. Hornblower's and mine. I am beginning to believe that there are no greater fools than ourselves. Both of us greatly broiled in self-pity. It took several days before I was able to sit up for more than a few minutes. Mr. Mathews would often step in long enough to shovel a few spoons of gruel down my throat, then leave me to my slumber. Horatio, on the other hand, had finally beaten the fever and would often read to me throughout the day from pure boredom, I am sure, but it was a welcome comfort.

It took some time but we finally began to talk out the foolishness of our ideas. We have concluded that neither would do anything hurtful to the other intentionally and if we did, it would be understood that it was done only because of duty and loyalty.

I am weary of being fatigued. The doctor says that it is normal after the length of time I have been ill. The ship as been quiet since the attack that left Horatio injured. I am going to scream if I don't get out of his room soon. It is a sad state when my only excitement comes when I catch Horatio attempting to scratch the healing wounds on his back. He has come up with several ingenious ways to do it, including rubbing his back up and down the support beams like a cat. But that finally undid the good work of the Doctor, breaking a few of his stitches. The Doctor has ordered the loblollies to bring a bucket of salt water to the room when the itching becomes too much; they wash his back down with it. Surely, there is not enough water in the whole of the Atlantic to keep Horatio appeased. I fear it doesn't really work to stop the itch, this confirmed by the occasional outburst of my roommate, still he continues to allow it for he figures that it is helping them to heal a little faster and he feels cleaner.

The Captain has been down twice since I awoke, or, at least twice that I know of. Once, I awoke to him and Horatio playing a game of chess; it was grand to watch, as Horatio had to actually work up a sweat against an opponent. It would have been more than grand to watch him lose. Not that I think that is possible, I am willing to bet that had the Captain not asked me to take over so that he could get back to his duties, that the game would go on to a stalemate. Yes, of that I am certainly sure.

Time has seemed to pass slowly. This day is near done and I am no longer inconvenienced hourly by that dreaded hacking cough, though it still rears its head enough to bring Horatio or the doctor from other rooms to check my fever and dump the vile elixir down my throat. Still, I feel better by the day. The doctor will be releasing Horatio and myself from the sick berth tomorrow. He has even stated that Mr. Hornblower can return to duty and I can do half-duties for the next week. This is a wonderful thing, for I do not know how many more times I can take losing at cards and chess to Mr. Hornblower. I suppose there is a lot to say for an analytical mind, but most of them are not kind words when you're playing against it. On the other hand, we have spent many days reading, or he did.

I have taken up my quill and begun to write these passages. As I am sleeping more often that I would like to admit, I have decided not to date my work but to just give my accounts of events around me. I have been giving a lot of thought to what the doctor said about what I should write in this journal. It seems I have already poured out and imprinted the darkest part of my soul to these white pages. But mine is not the life of a man worth reading about. Still, it has done well to ebb the foolishness I have felt since my illness, but now I want to write something worth reading. I desire to write words that would be remembered, or maybe even revered. Fa, but I do dream big. I have given thought to the book that the Don Massurato had given me: a story about a man and his squire who followed his master throughout his quest. It is no more than what I would do for Horatio. I know, as does most men on board this vessel, that his life is meant for much more than mine. He has a destiny that few others would know. He will be a Commander, of this I have no doubt. I only pray that when eventually he leaves this ship for good, that I might be able to tag along.

My Sancho to Horatio's Quixote, granted the hero in Cervante's book was daft, but it is not everyone who would face the "devil teeth" to rescue an enemy at the peril of himself and that of his men. Romeo and Mercutio, Prince Hal and Sir John... nay, they are all tragic endings. I would not wish to follow their lead, lest it be in the protection of my King and Country. I think I best be content to write of Horatio and Archie, if I dare to write at all. It is not as if we live the adventures of the likes of Admiral Nelson. Though it is certain none other could have seen such trials as our Horatio. Truly, they are tales that none would believe to hear them. Still, they would be quite the parable to convey to my children's children.

I shall fill this book with tales of our adventures. No longer will it be the dagger that stabbed at my soul. I shall fill it with tales of the sea and those who venture to tame her.


End file.
